Of Ends and Means
by Eolo
Summary: AU. Gamebased. Transbaal feels the aftermath of the war against the Rebel Forces. When Takuto decides once again to stick to his beliefs, he will soon find out that Eonia was not the only one willing to resort to any means to achieve his ends.
1. Of Actions and Consequences

_Disclaimer: The characters and situations of Galaxy Angel are the creation of and property of Kanan and are used here without permission. This story may be freely distributed, but it should not be altered or used for profit._

**Of Ends and Means**

By Megami no Senshi Yami

* * *

"_The end excuses any evil"_

_Sophocles_

Ever since its appearance on the orbit of planet Transbaal, the White Moon has been regarded as many things. From a miracle and a gift of the Heavens to a symbol of peace and a beacon of hope.

Those who know better would say something different. That the White Moon's true nature is far more related to science than religion—_to facts than faith_. They would say it is a defensive satellite and a weapon's factory.

Finally, there are those who chose to remain in silence knowing that the truth is somewhere between the two.

The bespectacled man lifted up the bloodstained gloves and discarded them in the waste bin with a loud noise. Then, he adjusted his pure-white coat and cleaned the sweat from his forehead; all with the calmness of a professional for whom this kind of task was as natural as breathing.

Next to him a lifeless body was resting in silence on a metal slab. It had an open and empty chest cavity with the flaps open at both sides; the top of the skull was missing and both arms and legs were slit open. Nonetheless, the abnormally pale skin along with the "peaceful" expression of the face made it look more like a bisque doll rather than the remains of a once living being.

Another man, dressed with a--rather pompous--military uniform leaned forward from the opposite side of the examination table and carefully scanned the body. His lips curved in a gesture that denoted disappointment, effectively breaking his callous expression for a moment. Then, he gave a short sigh and shook his head. "What was the employed disposal method, Doctor?"

"A Lethal Injection, Sir" the Doctor replied swiftly.

The man nodded slightly. "I suppose that having reached this point it doesn't truly have any significance" he shrugged nonchalantly before demanding. "Your report, please"

Burying his hands into his pockets the Doctor started. "After the armed conflict against the so-called "Legitimate Transbaal Empire Armed Forces" the Subject 017TCY417 started to display symptoms commonly associated with Posttraumatic Stress Disorder—such as lack of sleep, food and--most importantly--_isolation_" he paused for a second before finishing.

"Therefore we concluded that the best course of action would be to dispose of the Subject 017TCY417 and re-initiate the Process"

"I see…" the man scratched his chin thoughtfully. "And wasn't there any other way to deal with it?" he waved his hand casually before pointing an accusing finger. "As you already know, Doctor, this termination was executed _quite before_ the originally scheduled date"

Unfazed, the Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Psychotherapy is an overly long process, without mentioning the fact the success is not guaranteed" he replied firmly. "Moreover the body was already showing signs of deterioration" he motioned with his head towards a large shelf behind him filled with several small glass vessels. "It was only a matter of time, General"

The General looked at the vessels. They all contained body organs and it seemed that up to the last one was present. From the heart and the stomach to the liver and the brain; each one was submerged in a luminescent blue liquid that surely provided the doctors with a better view of them. Needless to say—and with his lack of experience in the area--the General found this detail to add to his disgust.

"I understand" he nodded slowly. "Still, I hope you would also understand, Doctor, that our current situation is _critical_—to say the least—and we need the Subject to be ready _as soon as possible_" he informed stiffly.

The Doctor took out his glasses and started to clean them. "Ten days, Sir" he informed plainly.

"That is too long" swiftly objected the General.

"I'm afraid--" the Doctor put back his glasses. "That it is the minimum lapse of time in order to ensure the complete success of the Process"

Beats of silence followed and with no other objection than a soft grunt, the General accepted the circumstances with dignity, taking a step back which the Doctor—correctly—interpreted as an invitation to finish his job.

And so, the General watched in silence as the Doctor quickly and precisely closed and stitched all the cavities he had opened before. He then proceeded to move the metal slab and introduce it inside of a medium-sized, container-like structure.

A cremator furnace.

"I believe you have requested to do this yourself" the Doctor motioned a hand towards the furnace.

"That is correct" affirmed the General and without any delays he pressed a small red button causing the body inside to be instantly engulfed in a burst of flames. "This is nothing more than a transition from a stage to another; like a phoenix which must first be reduced to ashes before rebirthing into a new and far more splendorous form" he quoted solemnly.

Thru a small window the two men watched in silence as the remaining ashes were cleaned until not even the smallest particle of dust remained. Failure isn't something people like to recognize and much less admit—and when you've reached the point it is no longer an option, no means seem to be sufficient to achieve success.

"Have you ever felt anything remotely similar to regret in your actions, Doctor?" inquired the General out of mere curiosity.

"I believe that the consequences of our actions are far more important than the means we employ, Sir" the Doctor replied coolly.

Impressed, the General curled his lower lip and noted. "A fine posture of consequentialism"

Deeming their task as finished, the two men left the room making their way thru the perpetually silent halls of the White Moon.

* * *

**END**


	2. Of Lives and Numbers

_Disclaimer: The characters and situations of Galaxy Angel are the creation of and property of Kanan and are used here without permission. This story may be freely distributed, but it should not be altered or used for profit._

**Of Ends and Means**

By Megami no Senshi Yami

* * *

"_The death of one man is a tragedy. The death of millions is a statistic"_

_Josef Stalin_

Optimists—and often younger—officers would tell you that a battle is not decided by numbers but rather by other series of "much more important" factors such as strategy, tactics, proper motivation of the troops, etc.

While this statement is true, the more experienced—and often elderly-- officers would argue that numbers are, in fact, the definite element of any war since almost every significant aspect of an armed conflict is reflected on them: resources, costs and _death tolls_.

The office was considerably small and while it did cover the majority of the basic needs adequately, it certainly had a considerable lack of comforts. Sitting in a desk in the middle of it was an overweight man dressed with the standard, pure white uniform of the army; the large amount of badges and decorations being evidence of his high rank.

His brown eyes carefully scanned every word of the file sheet in front of him as he thoughtfully scratched the thick, brown moustache that covered the space between his nose and mouth. "Six billion, two hundred forty five million, and three hundred seventy one thousand four hundred twenty two…" he read softly.

A sudden knock on the door broke the silence. "Come in" instructed the man without taking his eyes off the sheet.

Another man came in. He was wearing the same kind of uniform--including plenty of badges—and had a similar level of chubbiness. A long, thick black beard covered the lower half of his face. "General Sidmeyer" he greeted formally.

"General Dickel" replied the General Sidmeyer without even granting his fellow comrade the briefest of glances. "Take a seat" he pointed a finger towards the chair in front of him.

"Thank you" compelled the General Dickel. "How was your trip?"

"Smooth" came the dry answer.

"That's good to hear"

There was a long moment of silence in which the General Sidmeyer flipped thru the remaining pages of the file before putting them back in the folder neatly. Only then, the General Dickel inquired in a tone devoid of formalities. "How have you been, Sigurd?"

"Reading numbers…" Sigurd answered plainly before leaning forward against the desk. "Of which I imagine you have taken the appropriate measures regarding the media coverage, _George_" he said with little to no attempt of concealing his dislike towards the man in front of him.

"Of course" confidently assured George. He added with a low, menacing tone. "_Even if you really screwed things over back there_"

Sigurd's eyes narrowed dangerously. "_Bullshit_" he hissed. "If had taken command of the Elsior and the Angel Frames I could've sent Eonia and that _fucking_ Black Moon to Hell in the blink of an eye—but no, you had to give them to some _horny teenager_!" he growled

"There is no need to get angry" George raised a hand in a gesture of peace and continued in a significantly softer tone. "Look, we understand how you feel--but things are awry and looking at the increasing amount of incidents it's pretty clear that it will only get _worse_" he paused for a second. "These people don't want explanations—they _want blood_"

Unfazed, Sigurd crossed both arms over his chest. "I don't remember those _ungrateful bastards_ going to complain to Takuto Mayers, Luft Weizen or even the Old Fitzgerald!" he protested loudly.

George gave a deep sigh and massaged his forehead in exhaustion. "The Old Fitzgerald is _fucking dead_, Sigurd—blasted to kingdom come alongside the Emperor—the people is not going to spit on his grave" he took a breath. "And _you know_ how things are with Luft and the Mayers kid…" he paused and noted with distaste. "They like their unorthodox ways--the way they treat their troops as equals and so on…they think it's exotic--like some sort of _fucking _cheap entertainment…"

With an angry snort, Sigurd leaned back on his chair and averted his gaze towards the ceiling.

"Listen Sigurd…" George leaned forward and whispered. "What if we could find one of the people responsible for said atrocious acts?" he asked tentatively.

Sigurd shrugged nonchalantly. "It would be a _miracle_ if you could"

George's lips curved into a smug smile. "Your problem, Sigurd, is that you should have a little more faith" he chastised mockingly and took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket, placing it on the table.

Sigurd frowned in suspicion and unfolded the paper. It was a file sheet. He examined it and his eyes widened. "B-But this person is…" he mumbled in disbelief.

"The salvage was conducted a couple of days ago" informed George. "I believe this is a good opportunity…" he paused and teased. "_Can we entrust this operation to you?_"

With a shrewd glare and a slow nod, Sigurd inquired. "And _where_ is this person now?"

"The safest place in the entire galaxy" George declared proudly.

Before Sigurd could open his mouth to protest he was interrupted by a sudden and loud knock on the door. "Come in!" he barked irritated.

A young soldier entered and bowed before speaking. "My apologies, Sir, but we have been informed of a large crowd of people coming towards this location, therefore it would be advisable to evacuate this building immediately" he informed hastily.

With no other objections than a few curses under Sigurd's breath; both men left the office and made their way thru a darkened hall and towards the secret exit of the building, closely followed by three armed soldiers.

* * *

_Author's note: George Dickel is the name of a brand of Tennessee whiskey and Old Fitzgeral__d is a brand of bourbon from Kentucky._

**END**


	3. Of Duties and Children

_Disclaimer: The characters and situations of Galaxy Angel are the creation of and property of Kanan and are used here without permission. This story may be freely distributed, but it should not be altered or used for profit._

**Of Ends and Means**

By Megami no Senshi Yami

* * *

"_A leader is a dealer in hope"_

_Napoleon Bonaparte_

There was a time when if you asked any person—man, woman, elder or children—in any planet on the three systems of the Transbaal Empire the name of an important member of the Military, they would all probably reply with the same two words.

Luft Weizen.

Being one of the top five officers in the Military, he was an exceptionally skilled man in every single area deemed of importance by the Army. Nonetheless, it weren't his skills what gave him his reputation but rather two other reasons.

The first was the fact that as the Commander of the Ceremonial Vessel Elsior and consequently of the Moon Angel Troupe; his duty was to protect the Royal Family and, most importantly, the White Moon.

The second--but no less important—was the way he handled his troops: not like underlings but equals.

"Doctor, how is she?"

The man, clad in a pure white coat, adjusted his glasses. "She only suffered a few contusions and cuts but nothing serious" he replied coolly.

In front of him Luft Weizen exhaled a breath of relief, his face having recovered a bit of color, but then the Doctor kept going. "However, her body had already suffered a considerable amount of--" before he could continue Luft raised a hand and cut him off.

"Can I see her?" he inquired with a surprisingly serious expression at which the Doctor simply nodded in response.

Even when Luft was the closest thing she had to a father; for a moment he thought he was looking at a completely different child. Some child he didn't knew but he certainly would care for as it was the logic reaction a sight like that would instill in any sane human being.

It wasn't the bandages that covered her head and arms, neither the needle that provided her blood with serum nor the mask that gave her lungs oxygen. No, it was the paleness of her skin and the way her eyes were closed. It was sorrowful like a child who fells asleep while crying.

Luft could feel his heart sinking down and the faint glimmer on his emerald green eyes gave the impression he was about to break into tears. The Former Guardian of the White Moon took a chair and sat next to the bed. He gently stroked a strand of her short blue hair with the tip of his fingers.

From the other side of the room the Doctor watched intently.

"As you may already know, Doctor, Shiva Transbaal is last sole survivor of the Royal Family…and the truth is that there are duties that even I, as her legal tutor, can't fulfill" he declared with a very grave voice.

The Doctor's gaze lowered slightly as he felt the need to say something. "If you excuse me, Sir, I believe you have done an outstanding job. You have assembled a team of capable, loyal advisors and implemented restoration plan which is proceeding quite successfully despite all the adver--"

The speech was suddenly interrupted when Luft said with a trembling voice. "_I should've done something_". He kept gazing at the young girl while the tears accumulated behind his eyelids. Shiva was courageous and stubborn, and lively and…this child—she looked like if all the life was forcefully drained from her small body.

Just then, Luft was snapped out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see the Doctor next to him who spoke with a surprisingly emphatic tone. "I am not a soldier or a politician, Sir, but as the head doctor of the most advanced military hospital on this planet I can promise you we will take full care of this child" he assured with a smile which had a hint of pride.

Luft blinked twice with slight bewilderment before giving a long, empty laugh. "I am ashamed to think that I didn't realize this before" he confessed. "The Empress fought with all her strength to fulfill her duty" he paused and looked at the Doctor. "Just like you are doing now"

"I am going to fullfill my duty too" he declared firmly.

The Doctor nodded and adjusted his glasses. "This means you're going to continue with the restoration process?" he inquired tentatively.

Luft shook his head. "The Royal Advisors are taking care of that" he paused. "Right now I'm planning to go to the Roum System"

The Doctor flinched. "W-With all due respect, Sir, that area is _very dangerous_. Even if the people has a different—more positive--view towards you it _doesn't guarantee_ your safety"

"Perhaps…but I am still part of the Military, which makes me partially responsible for all that happened" he gave a last glance to Shiva. "I want to bring peace to this Empire, for the sake of this girl and every single inhabitant of it. And I am going to achieve it by the only method that can ensure a true victory for all: _a meaningful, civilized dialogue_"

The bespectacled man opened his mouth yet no words came out. Instead he decided to close it and twist his lips into a smile. "Good luck, Sir"

"Thank you" said Luft, returning the smile and patting him on the shoulder before leaving.

The Doctor watched as the Former Guardian of the White Moon disappeared from his sight before taking his cell phone from his pocket. "Yes"

"How is the Empress?"

"Stable. With the proper treatment and some rest she'll be like new in a couple of weeks"

"Excellent. And what about Weizen?"

"Heading towards Roum, as expected"

"Perfect"

"But…what if he's not successful?"

"No problem, we have a backup plan"

* * *

**END**


End file.
